страх и любовь
by Veronica Hawthorne
Summary: After Uhura finds Chekov trying to drink his pain away, he tells her what his life was like before Starfleet - and she learns that under the energetic, naive ensign is a tortured, fearful soul, longing for the one he loves.
1. один

_"It isn't logical. That would be my reasoning, Lieutenant."_

_"It isn't logical?! Spock, I don't care that you're part-Vulcan; that is the worst reason I have ever heard in my entire life."_

_"I didn't ask for your opinion on the matter, Lieutenant. I gave you my reasons. I expect you to respect them."_

_Pause._

_"Spock, tell me what's happened."_

_"Give me a chance to figure it out."_

Lieutenant Uhura was less than pleased with the outcome of her talk with Spock. He was completely serious about ending their relationship for what appeared to be no reason at all. 'Logic' wasn't a reason, in her mind, and it wasn't fair to have it end like this. Not when she spent so much time thinking about him. No, this was not going to happen. There was something else going on with Spock, and Uhura was determined to figure out what it was.

She stormed through the halls of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_, oblivious to the look of sheer rage she had on her face that made all those in her path instantly glue themselves to the wall. She was headed to Spock's room, where she hoped he would be, and if he wasn't there... Her emotions might overcome her.

She was so caught up in the events of the morning that she couldn't even remember what the rescue mission had consisted of; she only knew that there was a small exploration ship that had broken and was without a mechanic. For some reason, the _Enterprise_, undoubtedly the best ship with the best crew, was chosen to rescue the vessel. A simple mission that was easily accomplished. The _Enterprise_ was now waiting to go into warp, she presumed.

Uhura continued through the hall, determined to get to her destination. She rounded the corner and noticed an open door and an abnormally messy room. Slightly shocked, she backed up to examine it more thoroughly. She saw numerous books, mostly on the subject of physics, laying across the floor, and probably hundreds of papers surrounding them. Some were crumpled up into balls, some were slightly torn, and some were in fine condition. Every piece was full of writing – mostly complicated equations, although some had notes in English and Russian. Her eyes made it to the bed in the room, which was perfectly made, and then to the boy sitting at the end of it. Pavel Chekov was no older than seventeen, making the bottle of liquor he was holding a violation.

Uhura decided to take out some of her anger on the curly-haired boy.

"Ensign, what the _hell_ are you doing?" Uhura said viciously, storming through the door of Chekov's room. She expected the usual straightening of the boy's spine, the fidgeting with his hands, and the stutter as he tried to throw an explanation together. However, Chekov did not flinch. He remained hunched, one of his pale hands grasping a clear bottle, the other holding a small plastic glass, his eyes staring emptily at the floor. He made no move to acknowledge her. She moved to stand in front of him, her arms folded across her chest, her eyebrows tensed, her stare terrifying – a move that instilled terror in everyone she had ever had to frighten. Chekov did nothing. "Ensign?" She growled. "Explain yourself. _Now._"

The ensign stared at the floor. "I heard Kirk say once, 'I drink when I am upset. It helps me.' Something like zat... Perhaps he mentioned also drinking for fun..." He swirled the bottle around, creating a whirlpool of clear liquid. "I decided to try zis. I have never had a drink before, and wodka was invented by Russians, zerefore it must be best." Chekov took the bottle and poured a very small amount into the cup, then pressed the cup to his lips and gulped the contents. "I have seen others drink, however. I am hopeful I am doing it correctly." He kept staring at the floor. "Does zat satisfy you, Lieutenant?"

Uhura couldn't tell if he was being polite, albeit intoxicated, or sarcastic. She was, however, too interested in what he was saying to care about how he was saying it. She sat down next to him on his bed. "Pain, Ensign? What pain?" she asked him in a slightly softer tone. "Generally, we go to McCoy for pain. Not alcohol."

"Lieutenant Uhura -" Chekov began, but she stopped him.

"Right now, call me Nyota."

"Nyota... How much pain does missing a person cause you?"

Uhura looked at Chekov, who was still staring blankly at the floor. She was slightly confused, perhaps because of the language barrier. "You mean inside, Pavel? How much do I miss them?"

"I mean zat... And, how much does it hurt you? Do you actually feel pain when you miss someone? Does it make your head hurt, Nyota?"

Uhura continued to look at Chekov. What he was saying had to have a story and a reason, and she was going to listen. "Pavel... What's wrong?"

"With all do respect, Nyota... You did not answer my question." For the first time, Chekov looked at her. Uhura examined his face. His expression was blank, although a little sad. This was highly unusual for him. His blue eyes had no sparkle, no life, and looked glassy. His mouth made a slight frown. Uhura stared at him.

"I... I have never physically hurt when I missed a person."

"I was afraid you were going to tell me zat," Chekov sighed, pouring himself another shot of vodka. As he raised it to his lips, Uhura grabbed the cup.

"Pavel, what's wrong?" She asked again, this time more urgently.

"A lot of people say I look like my mama, you know," he said, now staring back at the floor. "And zis is true. However, I have my papa's eyes. Zey are exactly the same as his. Imagine having the same eyes as ze one person you hate ze most. So zen, when you look at yourself in the mirror, and you look at your eyes, you see zem. Every time, you are reminded of the pain zey caused you. Every time, you zink about how lucky you are to finally be free of zem. And yet, every time, you zink about how zey were right about all of the zings zey said to you. And zis pains you more. Every time you look at yourself. Every single time."

Uhura, confused, remained silent. Chekov continued.

"Of course, he is not who I miss. I could not miss him if I tried. He was unbearable. I could not stand him because he could not stand me. He liked to tell me zat, among other zings. Anyway. I do not miss my papa. I miss ze most beautiful girl in the world. God... She was beautiful. Her hair was light brown, her skin was pale, her eyes were hazel... But on some days, zey looked green..." Chekov seemed to drift off into some sort of a dream, still staring at the floor, but with a much softer expression; one of yearning and passion. Uhura tried to think of something to say, tried to make him explain, but Chekov began to speak again.

"But what really made her beautiful, Nyota, was her... What is the word... Compassion, I zink is the word. Yes. All she wanted to do was help other people. It was so incredible, to be honest with you... I had never met another person zat only wanted to help other people. And she had an... Interesting sense of humor. Like ze keptan's, I suppose, when the keptan is making jokes that are actually humorous...

"She makes me feel like I'm not a failure. Even zough I am."

Uhura stared at him, shocked. Not only was she stunned by the lack of Chekov's usual energy, but the fact he was calling himself a failure was absurd. She opened her mouth to speak, but them closed it. It was obvious to her now that Chekov was not the young, energetic, naïve Russian ensign that every knew him as. It now seemed like that was a facade, and that the real Chekov was a deeply tortured soul. This seemed impossible. A million thoughts flooded her mind – What had happened to him? Why was he so distraught? She stuttered for a moment, trying to ask all of the questions at once, until something coherent finally came out of her mouth.

"Why?"

"Why? Well zat," Chekov said with a small sigh, "is a rather long story."

"I've got time." Uhura got up and went over to Chekov's door, pressing a large blue button. The door slid shut. She then hit a small red button, locking it. She waded back through a mess off papers and books and retook her seat next to the boy.

"I'll begin from ten years ago."

* * *

NB - Hello :] I apologize... The beginning of this was bad. Forgive me for that. Anyway, I'm going to give you a bit of a warning now... This contains some parental abuse. For that, I apologize. I will keep it to a minimum as much as possible. Reviews are great; critique is awesome, lemme know. TTFN.


	2. два

"May God have mercy on your soul, Larisa Nadya Chekov, and may He ease the suffering of those who loved you deeply. In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen."

To Pavel, it seemed that those words had completely taken his mother from this earth. His gaze drifted to his mother's grave, a rectangular hole in which a simple wooden coffin lay. She was in there, and no matter how much of a dream Pavel wanted to think he was in, she was going to stare there for the rest of eternity. He felt his eyes sting for the first time since she had died.

_"Be strong, miliy moy." _

That was the last thing she would ever say to him, and he had tried to adhere to it. Yet, as the realization that she was gone forever set in, he couldn't hold back the crying any longer. He bit his lip as hot tears streamed down both sides of his face. Gone forever. A phrase that was nearly impossible for him to comprehend, and yet, he was experiencing it.

"Andrei... Would you like to say a few words?"

Pavel looked up and saw the priest standing next to his father. He was gesturing towards his mother's grave with a hand that held the Bible. His father's expression was stern, as it had been during the entire short ceremony. Pavel's father shook his head and turned away. The priest then came up and knelt next to Pavel. "And you, Pavel? Would you like to say anything?"

The seven-year-old had forced his tears to stop and took a shuddering breath. He nodded shakily as he took a few steps closer to his mother's grave, staring in at the coffin. A small cross was painted on the top, and 'Larisa Nadya Chekov' was written in a small script at the bottom. He stared blankly, trying to think of all the words he could say, but nothing seemed sufficient. He looked around, feeling somewhat pressured. His father still had his back turned and his fists clenched. The graveyard's owner had his head bowed, perhaps in prayer. The priest looked at Pavel and gestured towards his mother's coffin once more.

Pavel then spotted a small flower growing next to his foot. It was a little white daisy, no bigger than a quarter. He bent down and pulled it out of the ground. They were his mother's favorites.

_"Mama, which flowers do you like the best?"_

_"I rather like them all, Pavel."_

_"But which ones are your favorites?"_

_Pause._

_"The little white daisies that grow everywhere. They're so simple and beautiful."_

_"Then I'll get you some of those."_

He could see the conversation vividly in his mind – His mother was washing dishes, and he was standing on a box, helping to dry them. It was sunset, and the rays were coming in through the kitchen window. It made her curly brown hair seem lighter and her eyes sparkle. He could see her sweet smile as he promised to get her the flowers she loved. He could see her red apron over her light green dress that perfectly matched her eyes. He would never forget any of it.

Pavel looked at his father. "Papa?" He called. His father turned and looked at him. "Papa... Will you please come say goodbye?"

"No, Pavel." His father's voice was stern and serious. He turned back around so Pavel couldn't see him. Slightly heartbroken that his father wouldn't come say goodbye, Pavel turned to his mother's grave again. The image of her smiling face came to his mind, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

This was really his final goodbye.

Pavel dropped the flower on top of the coffin. "G-goodbye, mama," he choked. Suddenly, he couldn't contain himself. He began to spout every thought that came to his mind without thinking. "I'll never forget the games we would play, or when you would tell me how much you loved me, or when you would make my favorite dinner, or when you would tell me stories about princes and knights and princesses and magic and-" The boy felt the priest's hand on his shoulder. Pavel had been speaking Russian the entire time, but perhaps the priest understood what he was saying from the way he was saying it.

"I'll never forget you, Mama. I love you."

Pavel held back tears as he turned away from the grave, hoping his final goodbye was enough. He slowly walked away, towards the black car that his father was already sitting in. Pavel turned back once more and looked as the owner of the graveyard shoveled dirt unto his mother's coffin. He noticed how the sun was peeking through the trees, seeming to light up her grave. He then turned back around and continued to walk to the car. He opened the back door and sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

Pavel looked at the window and saw his reflection. He was the average height of a seven-year-old, but very thin. His curly mop of brown hair was uncontrollable, as it always was, even when he tried to look his best for the funeral. His cheeks were a little red from the tears, but his blue eyes looked normal.

His father hadn't acknowledged him; he simply began to drive away as his son looked out the window. Pavel was used to this type of treatment. He knew his father didn't like him. He simply neglected him, barely speaking to him or looking at him. His mother, however, thought the world of Pavel, spending almost every free moment with him. She taught him almost everything he had learned outside of the classroom..

It suddenly struck Pavel that she would no longer be there to comfort him.

From scraped knees to teasing at school, his mother was the one who he would come to. When he was younger, he would hold onto her for hours he cried and then fell asleep, while his mother spoke to him with soothing words and sometimes sang to him. As he got older, he no longer cried with her, but instead sat with her and talked to her, and she would always listen intently and remind him to stay strong.

It was by strength, she said, that he could accomplish anything. She told him that it was strength that had allowed them to leave Russia when he was three in hopes of making a better life in America. Was there anything wrong with Russia? No, of course not. But his father had grown tired of it and wanted to move to America, where the technology far surpassed that of anywhere else. And so through their strength they had left the home they knew and loved and went instead to a place they didn't know at all. But strength kept them going.

Pavel was so caught up in memories of his mother that he hadn't noticed that the car was stopped. He focused on the view from his window and saw that he was home. He looked at the empty passenger seat, wondering how long he had been sitting there. Pavel opened the car door and stared at his house. It was a little on the small side, one-story with two bedrooms, but it was home. Like the entire city, it didn't have the most efficient technology, and most of it was outdated. However, it worked fine. He hit the code '4374' on the number pad outside the door and it unlocked for him. He heard laughter and turned around, curious.

Some children, some his age, some younger and older, were playing. He recognized a few from his school, but he wouldn't call any of them his friends. Pavel was two years ahead in his classes, in addition to already being small for his age, which made him the perfect target for ridicule. Although his Russian accent wasn't very noticeable anymore, his speech impediment – his trouble pronouncing words English 'V's - also earned him a spot on the bully's list. One boy waved to him.

"Hey, Pavel, you should play with us!" He called. Pavel didn't know his name; he was a year behind him.

"Dummy, his mom just died!" Another boy said, punching the first. He looked at Pavel. "Jason's stupid, sorry about him!"

The first boy looked embarrassed. "Oh, I'm, um, really sorry, Pavel, I am really stupid-"

"Just stop talking! You're making it worse!" The second boy punched him again.

"Guys, come on! Let's go play!"

"Okay, um, one second." The second boy left and the first looked back at Pavel. "I'm really, really sorry, but if you ever feel better, you should come play... Okay, bye..." He ran off to catch up with his friends.

Pavel felt another wave of sadness wash over him as he slowly walked through the house, seeing the kitchen, bathroom, living room and dining room from the front door. He looked down the hall to his own room, opposite of the room his parents once shared, and decided to go there and sit, maybe cry. He didn't know exactly what to do now. He didn't feel like playing, there was no schoolwork or housework for him to do-

Pavel's thoughts were interrupted by a very firm grip on his shoulder. He was turned around at an alarmingly fast pace, then facing his father, who looked the same as before - stern. His father then grasped bother shoulders and drew Pavel's face up to his own. He and his father shared the same eyes, but his father had very short, dark brown hair and a small mustache. His chin was pointy, like his nose, and his eyebrows always made him look annoyed. Pavel, familiar with the odor, thought he could smell alcohol on his breath.

"You," he growled, "acted like a complete _child_ earlier."

Pavel bit his lip, not knowing what to say.

"Do you have anything to _say,_ Pavel?"

He trembled. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't think of anything to say, he barely knew what his father was talking about.

"Damn it, Pavel!" His father smacked him across the face so hard and unexpectedly that Pavel was knocked to the floor. "I don't care what happens to you, you will act like a _man_ from now on! And men, Pavel, aren't _weak_! They do not _cry_!"

Pavel got to his knees, his body shaking. His father's voice had always instilled fear in him; but his yelling made him more frightened than anything. However, he didn't feel any fear as his father yelled at him this time. He simply felt anger. Pavel stood up.

"At least I showed I cared!" He shouted.

His father's teeth clenched as he slapped Pavel a second time; fortunately for the boy, he was much more ready for it and able to keep his balance.

"I didn't _show_ that I cared because I _didn't_ care!" He roared. "And you shouldn't have cared either!"

Pavel looked at his father in disbelief.

He didn't care. He didn't want Pavel to care. Those words stung him more than any slap ever could. His breathing became shaky; he didn't know what to do. Pavel quickly turned around and ran to his room, slamming the door. He turned the look fiercely and he then sank to the floor and curled himself up into a ball, sobbing.

Nothing was fair. His mother shouldn't have gotten sick and died. His father should have cared about his mother; his father should have loved his mother; his father should have loved him. He should have been able to go play with the boys that didn't tease him. He shouldn't be an abnormally smart, small seven-year-old that was now motherless and being forced to mature. If his father's idea of being a man was becoming like him, then Pavel never wanted to become a man.

His face began to sting with pain. Pavel had experienced it once before, but his mother had been there to comfort him.

It was only a few months ago. It was late, and Pavel had already gone to bed when the screaming awoke him. His parents fought often, but never quite like this. Curious, he had climbed out of bed and quietly opened his door. He saw his mother and father yelling at each other in the kitchen. His father's back was to him, but he could see his mother; it looked like she had been crying.

"You could at least _acknowledge_ him, Andrei! You don't have to pretend like he doesn't exist! He's half of you! You _never_ speak to him, you _never_ look at him, you _neglect_ your own son!"

"I told you before; I didn't _want _another son!" Pavel saw his mother's face turn from anguish to disbelief. There was a brief pause as she struggled for words.

"Andrei... You _neglect _the one son you have because your first son didn't live past two weeks? _That's_ why you don't... You can't... What is wrong with you? You're living in the past! Dimitri died _ten years ago_! He isn't a part of our lives anymore! I can't believe that you don't love the only son you have because the first son you had isn't alive anymore! _I lost him too_!" Pavel's mother was sobbing – a sight that Pavel himself hated to see. He stepped out of his room slowly.

"Mama?" He called quietly.

"Pavel... Pavel, go back to bed..." His mother said, wiping her tears away.

Pavel ignored her request and took a few steps towards her. "Mama, are you okay?"

His father turned to him, with a look of rage Pavel had never seen before. As his father took a few steps toward him out of anger, he took a few steps back out of fear.

"She told you to go to bed, Pavel!" He yelled, smacking him. Pavel's face hit the wall and he struggled to remain balanced. Ultimately, he fell on to his back His father looked not only enraged, but also slightly disoriented. He thought he smelled alcohol, but he didn't know if his mind was forcing him to smell it of it was really there. His father raised his hand again, and Pavel covered his face. "You _never_ listen, you brat-"

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!" His mother screamed, running next to him. She knelt to the floor and grabbed Pavel into a tight embrace, placing his head between her neck and shoulders.

"You treat him like a _child_!" His father roared.

"He is seven years old, Andrei, he _is _a child!" His mother screamed back.

"It's time he grew up!"

Pavel could hear his father open the door and leave the house. His mother stood up, keeping Pavel in the tight embrace she had held him in when he was younger. He was too frightened to move. She opened the door to his room and sat down on the bed, gently rocking him back and forth as she began to cry.

"Mama?" He asked quietly after a few minutes.

"What, _miliy moy_?" She responded through sobs.

"Mama... Does Papa really not love me?"

His mother began to cry harder.

"Oh, Pavel... Oh, Pavel... I love you more than you could ever imagine. I will always love you. I will always be proud of you. You are everything to me, Pavel... I love you, _miliy moy_..."

She didn't answer his question, but Pavel had decided not to ask again. She stayed with him until he fell asleep; and his father did not return for a week. He had no idea what had happened and had decided not to ask, but in order to make sure that never happened again, he decided that he would try and 'grow up'. Pavel hated remembering that night.

He stood up from the door, wiping his running nose. He couldn't hear his father; he assumed he was either drinking or sleeping. Pavel turned off his light and climbed into his bed, looking out his window into space. He and his mother used to look at the stars together, giving them names and imagining what they were like up close.

Pavel cried himself to sleep that night.

* * *

NB: Wow. Thank y'all for reading and reviewing (and if you're reading and not reviewing, I'd appriciate it if you dropped me a line, thanks ;]) and liking this story. Sorry it's a bit depressing, but that's the point. Let me know what I can do better. This chapter turned out okay, I was hoping it would be longer, but there wasn't anything else to add. The next chapter will probably be longer, probably be just as depressing, and probably take me a little longer to turn out. So don't go away ;] - _xo Ronnie_


	3. три

Pavel knew he was smart, but he wouldn't call himself brilliant.

He stood in front of his teacher's desk anxiously as his teacher, Ms. Rowland, shuffled through papers in an attempt to find his report card. She was astonished when he asked for it, telling him that he was brilliant and didn't need any hard proof of that. However, after he again asked for the document, she began to look for it.

He wouldn't call himself brilliant because he really wasn't. Yes, he had skipped three grades total, but he wasn't _brilliant_. He just studied and did his work and could learn faster than the other kids in his class. The only thing he would consider him self a natural at was math – calculations simply made sense to him, no matter how many numbers were involved and how complex the equations became. None of this, though, helped him earn many friends; in fact, a lot of his classmates hated him. This didn't bother Pavel, however, because he was quite used to being hated.

He looked around the classroom. The walls were stuffed with rules for every subject – math, science, English, history, even art. The school had a very tight budget, and as such, every teacher taught every subject, with two teacher per grade. The school had about thirty teachers and taught children from age four to seventeen. The building itself was mostly wooden, as were most other structures in the town, but this one was beginning to fall apart. As a result, an hour of every day was devoted to school improvements.

Sometimes, Pavel really wished his family hadn't left Russia, which he didn't even remember, for this.

His gaze drifted out the window. He could see the library and the store, as well as the main road. After he was finished, he was going to meet Jason at the intersection.

Jason was his only friend – and he was a pretty good one at that. They had known of each other for quite some time, but only when they were about eight did they begin to become friends. Jason didn't hate Pavel for his intellect or his accent; he thought they were cool. He was now two years behind Pavel in school and didn't mind at all, often saying "You think _you_ have cool friends? I've got a thinking machine. Beat that."

It was Jason who had told Pavel that he should look into joining Starfleet. It was Jason's dream to go into space, as he often told Pavel, and knew everything there was to know about the Starfleet Academy and was planning on joining the minute he turned twenty. "Space, Pavel! Space! What could possibly be more awesome then that?"

Pavel didn't have an answer.

"Oh, here we are, Pavel," Ms. Rowland said, pulling out a green paper from her stack. His stomach lurched. "See Pavel, brilliant scores... We're considering moving you up another grade, my dear." She handed him the paper and he gazed over it quickly.

Seven 'A's. One 'B'. His heart sank, although he had been expecting it.

"Although I must ask you, Pavel... You do so brilliantly in every class but one. Why is it that your English scores aren't, as they say, up to par?"

Pavel looked at her and told her the truth. "We read such depressing stories. I... I do not like zem. At all, Miss Rowland. So I do not read zem very often." He sighed.

"...Yes, Pavel. Regardless, we are considering moving you up another grade – your math ability is absolutely astounding. Would that be alright with you, Pavel?"

He was staring out the window. A group of Starfleet Academy cadets were in town, for a reason unknown to him. All four of them appeared to be friends, laughing and talking and pointing at various things in the town. Perhaps they could tell him what it was like to be in space, away from the boring town he lived in.

"Pavel?"

He snapped back to her. "Yes?"

"Would you be alright with that?"

He desperately tried to remember what she was talking about. The though of skipping another grade came into his mind. Maybe that would make his father a little happier.

"Oh, I would not mind."

"I'll write that down then, dear."

He looked back at the paper. "May I keep zis, Miss?" As much as he didn't want to, he knew he would have to show it to his father. He hoped that he would be too drunk to notice it tonight and then too hungover tomorrow to care.

His teacher smiled at him. She was short and plump, probably in her fifties. Her make-up clad face was wrinkled, and blue eyes hid behind circular glasses. "Of course you can, Pavel, dear," she said, shuffling through more papers. "I'm sure your father will be proud of you."

Pavel felt the knot in his stomach grow tighter. "Yes. Zank you, Miss." He then noticed her eying his cheek, where he knew there was a bruise. He hastily pretended to scratch his cheek while his face turned red with embarrassment. "I will just be going now." He quickly walked out of the room, ignoring his teacher's request to stay. He didn't want to be questioned about his bruises, scars or cuts, but he didn't do a very good job of hiding them. He never wore anything but long-sleeve shirts and pants, but that didn't help anything on his face, which tended to be his father's favorite place to aim.

Pavel was now staring at his reflection in a glass window of the school. The bruise wasn't too big, but it was purple and fairly noticeable. He was running out of new ideas to tell people; tripping and falling were getting old. He frowned.

Slightly annoyed, he turned around the corner, hoping that the Starfleet Cadets he saw earlier were still there. A tall, thin, redheaded male was leaning up against the school wall, looking around. He held a lit cigarette in one hand while the other was in his pocket. Pavel wondered if he was perhaps reminiscing. He gulped, nervous to talk to him, and took a few more steps forward.

"Ehm... Excuse me?" He said shyly, looking at the male. He turned to Pavel and smiled.

"Yeah?" He took a drag on his cigarette.

"You go to ze Starfleet Academy, correct?"

He examined Pavel with a curious look. "I thought the uniform gave it away." He chuckled, tapping his cigarette with his finger. "Yeah, I do. Why do you ask, kid?"

Pavel started to relax a little. "Because I wanted to know what it was like, being in Starfleet."

"Not gonna lie, kid, it's pretty damn amazing." He smiled. "I'm Will, by the way." He extended his hand and Pavel shook it.

"Pavel."

"That explains the accent you've got going on," Will said, smiling. "Anyway... Aren't you a little young to be thinking about enlisting in Starfleet?"

"Well... I guess so... But I just wanted to know about it." Pavel wasn't sure what Will didn't understand. He just wanted to hear about what it was like from someone who actually attended the Starfleet Academy, instead of Jason's ramblings about it when, in reality, he probably knew absolutely nothing.

"Well, Pavel, the Starfleet Academy is kind of like any other university you could go to. You live in dorms, you take exams, you choose your major, all that jazz... Except that it prepares you to work in space. Whether you want to translate messages, work in the sick bay, become a navigator or an engineer, hell, even be captain, you'll learn how to do it at the Academy. Just trust your skills. That's the biggest thing you'll learn." Will stared out into nothingness for a moment. "Space. It's kind of a scary thing, Pavel. You don't know what you're going to run into. There are infinite possibilities in every direction. Kind of a metaphor for life, y'know?"

Pavel looked at Will. "I... Do not understand this metaphor..."

He shook his head before taking another drag on his cigarette. As Will exhaled, Pavel could see the smoke leave his nostrils, making a mental note of how disgusting smoking was. "You're a kid, Pavel. I probably shouldn't expect you to." He tapped his cigarette again. "But Pavel, if you want to do something with your life, I say Starfleet. If you can't find something to do on the ground, why not find something to do in space? You like adventures, Pavel?"

"I... I don't mind zem."

Will smiled and nodded. "Then you might like to think about Starfleet." His gaze drifted over to the paper in Pavel's hands. Pavel looked down and with a simple 'Oh' folded up the paper. He didn't want to be judged. Will's eyes widened and smiled and nodded again. "You're a prodigy, aren't you, kid?"

"I-I wouldn't say that..." Pavel stuttered.

"Twelve and in ninth grade. That's prodigy level, Pavel." Will gave what seemed to be a happy sigh. "Gotta love this place. I grew up here, y'know. This... This is nothing like the real world. This place is nothing compared to the rest of the world. It's almost like the twentieth century here. That's hella old..." He looked back at Pavel. "I'm gonna take off. Got some people here to see." He dropped his cigarette and stomped it on the ground. "You take care, kid."

"Zank you... I will try."

"Am I gonna see you in space one day?"

Pavel smiled for the first time that day. "Yes."

Will nodded. "Good." He then turned around and walked away, towards what Pavel knew to be a residential area. He turned back around.

"One last thing, Pavel. If you wanna get anywhere, you gotta have a positive outlook. If you've gotta do something, say "I can do that" instead of "I'm not ready." Just remember that... And you'll do fine." Pavel nodded as Will walked away again. He contemplated his advice for a moment and then looked up at the sky.

Space. He was going to get there one day – what he was going to do there was a different story, maybe he could be a-

"What are you _doing_?" An angry voice demanded, shoving his shoulder. Pavel's thoughts were interrupted by Jason, who had a slightly annoyed look on his freckled face.

"Sorry, I was talking to someone."

"Pavel, the voices in your head aren't real."

Pavel shoved Jason. He was used to his somewhat mean humor. "I was _talking_ to a Starfleet cadet," he said, somewhat proudly.

Jason's brown eyes widened. "No way – a real cadet? In this crappy town? THAT IS SO AWESOME!" He yelled. "What did you ask him? What did he say? Did he have a phaser?"

"Phaser, no. He liked space," Pavel said, beginning to walk along the sidewalk as Jason followed him. "He liked ze academy too. Said I should go."

"You _should_ go! You should go with me... You could be my wingman!"

"Sorry?"

"Wingman. Means, like, partner. My dad's been watching old movies."

"Oh. Right," Pavel nodded, deciding to remember that phrase.

"I'll be the engineer. You can be..." Jason's excitement died down. "What can you do, Pavel? I mean, you're really smart, but you don't like fixing stuff-"

"Nawigator, maybe." That was the first thing that came to Pavel's mind.

"Yeah, sure. Maybe that. Hey, Pavel, where are we going?" Jason looked around. Pavel had been aimlessly walking, and Jason had been aimlessly following him. They were leaving the main center of town and headed towards a street of houses, including Pavel's. His stomach lurched at the thought of going home to his father and having him see his grades. _I hope he's drunk. At least he can't aim._

"I don't know," he said after a minute. "I have to go home, I zink."

"'Course you do. You wasted all that time that we were supposed to spend checking out girls who walked down the street."

"No, Jason, you were going to check out girls on ze street. I was going to pretend I didn't know you." Even at the age of twelve, Jason was obsessed with girls. He'd already been kissed, and now he was waiting to find a girlfriend. He accepted this as a fact. Pavel himself didn't really care about Jason's love life; nor did he really care about girls.

"Okay, true. Guess I'll see you later, Pavel."

"Yeah. I'll see you, Pavel." Jason waved as he walked back the way he had came and Pavel continued down the street.

Jason never came to Pavel's house; Jason had never met Pavel's father. He never asked about Pavel's home life, and never asked questions when Pavel would tell him something. Pavel was certain that he had figured out that his father beat him, but he never asked. Pavel liked going to Jason's house; his mother loved him and Jason's siblings made him feel like he was back in Russia with his family.

It had been two years since Pavel had been back to Russia. He normally went back every summer, but now that his mother was gone, his father didn't care to send him back. His father never went and saw his mother's family, and his own family was long gone. Pavel's mother's family was large, and he was the oldest grandchild. He didn't even know how many cousins he had now.

Pavel stopped in front of his house. His father's car was in the driveway, making his stomach turn again. That meant he was home, but was he sober? It might have been the late afternoon, but his father didn't care what time it was; he would drink regardless. He knew that he was drinking to forget, but in his father's case, it only made him angrier.

Pavel punched his house code, 4374, onto the keypad, took a breath, and entered the house. It was quiet, as it usually was, but once Pavel took another step he heard his father.

"Pavel? That you?" A rough voice called from somewhere Pavel couldn't see.

"Yes, sir," Pavel replied, feeling his heart racing.

"About damn time." He heard his father get up, as well as place a bottle down. _He's been drinking. Maybe he won't care_. "Did you bring your scores home?"

"Yes, sir," Pavel said as he walked further into his house. His father stood in front of him, looking down. He looked perfectly sober, causing Pavel to tremble. _Maybe he's drunk even though he doesn't look it._

His father grabbed the paper out of Pavel's hands and scanned it over quickly. His grip on the paper tightened as he finished and looked down at Pavel, who had taken a step back. His expression was furious, his teeth were clenched, and his eyebrows were together. Pavel bit his lip.

"_What did I tell you, Pavel?_"His father barked, crumpling the paper into a ball and hurling it across the room.

"You told me to bring home perfect grades, sir," Pavel said, staring at the ground, not daring to see his father's wrath.

"And did you do that?" His father asked slowly with a devilish tone. Before Pavel could answer, his father slapped him across the face, causing him to bite down on his lip. The taste of blood filled his mouth.

"You are a _failure_!" His father spat, slapping him again. "You honestly think that you'll be able to do something _worthwhile_ if you can't be at the top of every class? That's the only way that _I_ made it, Pavel!"

Pavel swallowed a mixture of his spit and blood. He _loathed_ his father, he _hated _his father with every fiber of his being. He wasn't going to put up with it anymore.

"Look at where you ended up," Pavel said bitterly, looking his father in the eyes. He saw his father's expression change from rage to shock to infuriation. His father slapped him so that he ended up against the wall.

"Don't you _dare_ talk back to me, you disrespectful little shit!"

Pavel pulled himself away from the wall. His face was stinging with pain, his lip still bleeding, his heart racing. He was angrier than he ever had been in his entire life. He had had enough of his father's routine. He was going to fight back.

"As soon as I can, I'm joining Starfleet." He said, bracing himself for another slap.

"Starfleet? There's _nothing_ worthwhile in space! You can't expect to do _anything_ there! You want to spend your life on a goddamn _ship_ because you're a screw up who can't get a decent job-"

"I AM NOT A SCREW UP LIKE YOU!" Pavel roared. His father through a punch at his face, but Pavel had been expecting it and he had missed. He ran passed his father, down the hall and ran into his room, locking it. He was done with his father; he wasn't going to put up with him anymore. He was going to leave and never come back.

Pavel heard his father yell at him, cursing and banging on his door. He shoved a chair against the handle, knowing that it wouldn't hold for long. He looked around his room. Textbooks were mixed with papers on his desk and floor, he had some dirty clothes on the floor and a picture of him and his mother on his nightstand. He grabbed the photograph and scanned the room quickly. There was nothing else that was too important to him or that he couldn't live without. He heard his father continue to yell and he opened his window and climbed out.

The night was still and chilly, and the stars were bright. The moon was full as Pavel sprinted around the front of his house and began to run. He put the picture in his pocket as he ran, not knowing where he was going. He followed the orange glow of the streetlights, taking random turns, simply running. He didn't know where he was going; he didn't care. He wanted away from his ruthless father, he wanted out of his house, he wanted to be with people who actually _cared_ about him. He didn't know who those people were or where he would find them.

Pavel ran along the edge of the road. The sidewalk had disappeared now; he didn't know where he was. There was grass and trees, but no signs pointing to where he was going. He must have been running for twenty minutes now, just aimlessly running, not planning on getting anywhere but away from where he was.

_There's nowhere for me to go._

The thought hit Pavel suddenly as his pace slowed. There _wasn't_ anywhere for him to go. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know what was ahead of him. He had no food, no money, nothing. He was completely and utterly alone of the side of the road, running from the man he hated the most, but with nowhere to go. He fell to his knees and became overwhelmed.

He had absolutely nowhere to run to, but an entire life to run from. His father didn't love him, didn't care about him, but his father's house was the only place Pavel could go. He couldn't escape his father no matter how hard he tried or how much he wanted to because it was the only home Pavel had. The thought depressed him to tears. He _had_ to live with his father. There was nowhere else to go.

He felt fatigue and pain wash over him. How far had he come? Where was he? He had no idea what to do as he pulled his knees up to his chest and sat in the orange glow of the streetlight. His face was burning, his lip and legs were sore, his head was pounding. He was alone, in pain, on the side of a road, knowing that he would have to sometime go back to the one place he hated the most in the world.

Pavel saw the lights of a car come around the corner. He recognized it as his father's car at once. He felt agony was over him. His father had followed him. He had to go back. The car rolled up in front of Pavel and the window rolled down.

"Get in the car." His father's voice was stern, he didn't look at him.

"I said, get in the fucking car!" Pavel stood and opened the door to the backseat, not daring to look at his father as the car began to make a turn back around to the way it had come. Pavel looked out the window.

He felt completely hopeless. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, his father made his life miserable. There was no way to escape his father's wrath, everything he did lead him back to pain. Pavel's life was just a cycle of pain at the hand of his father.

There was nothing he could do to change it.

_"Am I gonna see you in space one day?"_

_"Yes."_

All he could do was hope that those words came true.

* * *

NB : Thanks for all the reviews, alerts, et cetera. I love y'all. :] I'm pleased with this chapter, not uber-happy with it, but fine with it. It turned out all right. (And, in case it wasn't obvious, Pavel speaks Russian when he's at home.) Someone asked for Russian translations - The chapter titles are just the numbers in Russian; 'страх и любовь' means 'Fear and Love', and 'miliy moy' means 'my sweet'. Any other questions.. Lemme know. Critique and reviews are loved! Oh, and the next chapter is where things start to get a little better. Promise ;]


	4. четыре

"You're fifteen?"

"Yes, sir."

The pointy-nosed man just laughed at him along with the the woman with long, straight hair and the man with crooked glasses. Pavel did what he always did when he became uncomfortable - he bit his lip. He felt his ears become warm; he hoped that his curly hair covered them. He no longer regretted putting off his haircut.

"So, Mr. Chekov... You're fifteen." The man with crooked glasses reclined in his chair and stretched.

"Yes."

"Doesn't look a day over twelve," he hear the woman whisper, as the pointy-nosed man laughed quietly with her. He bit down on his lip harder.

"And you are applying to the Starfleet Academy?"

Pavel resisted the urge to say something along the lines of 'Obviously, you maniacal twit,' and instead nodded and added a polite "Yes, sir."

"And you're aware that the average freshman is nineteen?"

Show 'em what you're made of, Pavel. Show 'em you're fearless. Show 'em your ready.

"I will be throwing the awerage off a bit, no?" Pavel asked, somewhat smugly, remembering Jason's advice. (Granted, he was pretty sure Jason didn't have any idea what the hell he was talking about, but the advice seemed to make a little bit of sense.)

The three sitting behind the table looked momentarily stunned. The crooked-glasses man pushed his glasses further up his nose, making them lean to the right even more, while the straight-haired lady took a pencil out from behind her ear and the pointy-nosed man just stared in shock.

"Well, you seem to be sure of yourself, Mr. Chekov."

Suddenly, Pavel was regretting his actions. He shouldn't have said anything; hell, he shouldn't even be here -

"Well, Mr. Chekov, your scores are highly unusual," the woman said, cutting off Pavel's thoughts, speaking audibly for the first time. He found her voice very high and nasally - and incredibly annoying. "And you were finished with school at age fourteen."

"Yes." He'd been out of school for months now – they had simply run out of work for him. He had been taking highly advanced math classes from one of the teachers for a year, but even he had run out of things to teach Pavel, sending him the most advanced textbook file he could find and saying "Just study this."

"I want to see what you can do, boy," The pointy-nosed man said. "I've heard many people say that you're a math prodigy. I want you to prove it." He stood up, revealing that he was a rather tall, skinny man, and made his way over to the electronic board. He appeared to be opening up files on the main system, searching for something. Pavel noticed that he had picked the folder titled "Advanced" and opened the first file there; revealing a complex equation on the board.

"Solve it," the man demanded, standing by the board and folding his arms. He gave Pavel the board's pen. Pavel had bit his lip again – what is he couldn't solve it and he was making a fool of himself?

He studied the equation carefully, noting every pattern and every rule it followed. It was highly complex, probably a very advanced form of trigonometry. Or was this calculus? Equations were equations to Pavel, and they were meant to be solved. He stared at the board until something in his brain connected.

"This is impossible," he muttered in Russian, tilting his head slightly.

"What, boy?" The pointy-nosed man asked.

"Zis equation is wrong, sir," he said, pointing at the board. "It is impossible to obtain a correct answer. If you wanted an answer, you would have to do zis." He took his pen and crossed out parts of the original equation, writing things in other places, and completely ignoring other parts. The result was a barely readable mess of numbers and symbols.

There was a dead silence.

_Oh, _shit_. I probably screwed myself completely_, Pavel thought, his heart rate increasing. _They're going to laugh, I was wrong, I was wrong_...

"How the hell... It took my students _six damn months_ to catch that it was insolvable, then another three to come up with the right equation... _Eight total months._ This kid just did it in two minutes." The pointy-nosed man stared at his colleagues in shock.

"What if he cheated-" Began the woman, who was cut off.

"Impossible," he said, placing his finger on his pointed nose. "You can't _cheat_ on this. This was completely random, all of the tests are. He... He _knew_ the answer. He solved the problem."

Pavel felt a surge of pride for himself, smiling ever so slightly.

"Mr. Chekov..." The crooked-glasses man shook his head in disbelief. "How did you...?"

He shrugged. "I do not know. It just made sense." Pavel was completely honest with them – math just made sense to him. He didn't know how else to explain it. He knew numbers.

"I'm not convinced," the woman said, a very snooty tone in her voice. "Give him another one."

"Fine," the pointy-nosed man said, pulling up another file. "I'll time him."

Pavel stared. The equation was just as complex as the other, with numbers and symbols galore. He looked at it for a moment and then began furiously writing on the board, muttering to himself in Russian about the numbers. He was fairly confident that his answer was correct when he back up from the board.

"Two minutes and ten seconds," the pointy-nosed man said, putting his wrist down. He looked at the board. "And... he's right."

The crooked-glasses man folded his hands and rested his head behind them. "He's quite smart and capable," he said. "And we were sent here to find smart, capable men."

"Men, Howell. Not boys." Pavel felt himself go red again. He _was_ fifteen, he wasn't that young.

"Brianne, I think he is plenty mature. He's smart. He could do very well at the academy... Your opinion, Montague?"

"I say we... Talk it over. Then we get back to Mr. Chekov."

xoxo

Pavel hadn't slept well since then. There was constantly a knot in his stomach; constantly the reminder of 'they still haven't told you if you're good enough'. He had never wanted anything so badly in all of his life. He had made up his mind – hell, a forever ago. He knew what he wanted to do; he wanted to study advanced theoretical physics and other maths and sciences. There was no better place to study than the Starfleet Academy, because then after his studies were finished, he would be placed on an actual starship and begin actually using the things he'd learned.

It sounded great to him, but this 'modified admission process' was pure, agonizing torture.

Every few days or say, Pavel would get a message on his (old and incredibly outdated) PADD from 'Montague Pienta' – the pointy-nosed man – that gave him a day and time to show up at the National Federation of Planets embassy 'should he still be interested in applying to the Starfleet Academy.' So every day he managed to find enough credits every day to pay for the ground shuttle to the complete other side of the city, marvel at the incredible technological advances of the rest of the world, and then go back to the United Federation of Planets building and tell them that he was, yes, back again for the Starfleet admission. Then he would go up to the sixth floor and find the fourth room on the left, take a breath, and enter to the same three people that were there the first day.

It was a mind-boggling process – it consisted of more math then Pavel had ever seen. He was timed on every question, generally resulting an impressed look as Mr. Pienta stared at his PADD with a look of pleasant surprise. After what seemed like hours of scribbling, erasing, solving, and correcting, the three adults in the room – Motague Pienta, Howell Smith, and Brianne Tate – would tell him they were impressed and he was free to go, as long as he understood that he could be called back at any time.

It was so annoying that they wouldn't just let him in or tell him no.

It had been a week since they had last talked to him, which was longer than any other time period had bee, so he was beginning to worry that he had done something to insult them.

"God, Pavel, could you stop worrying for one minute?" Jason said, breathing heavily. "I mean, seriously, they're _gonna_ let you in, you're Pavel Andreivich Chekov, the smartest guy in this galaxy and probably a couple others. You can solve shit that I don't think half the living universe even understands. And you can run like a madman for hours."

Pavel shrugged as they two of them ran passed the streetlights on the road. "I do not know... I don't zink zey are looking for someone like me."

"The hell...?" Jason panted, falling more behind Pavel. "Dude, you are-" Huff. "-the smartest-" Huff. "-fif- Huff. "-teen-" Huff.

"Jason, should we stop?" Pavel asked, turning around. Jason was already bent over, his hands on his knees, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

"How the _hell_-" Huff. "-can you run so much?" Jason asked, looking up at Pavel. Jason looked like he had just wrestled a wild beast, while Pavel seemed like he had finished holding a kitten. Pavel ran his hands through his curly, in-need-of-a-trim haircut and shrugged again.

"We didn't go _zat_ far, Jason," he said. They had run about seven miles, give or take a bit. "It is not _my_ fault you are a wimp."

Jason stood up and shoved Pavel. "I've got more muscles than you can fathom, so what if I can't run?"

The part about muscles was entirely true. Jason was fairly well-sculpted, very good at sports, and every female (and maybe a male or two) from fourteen to eighteen was convinced that he was a God. In addition, he was tall, auburn-haired, freckled, and had sparkling green eyes – the spitting image of his father, who had himself modeled for a shuttle company. Jason was perfectly aware of what the girls thought about him, and he enjoyed it.

Pavel was almost the exact opposite. He was skinny and his muscles were not as prominent as Jason's, his hair was curly and unable to be tamed, and his incredibly thick accent did not, as Jason had suggested, turn girls on. Pavel was sure that his lack of friends, let alone girlfriends, was also because he didn't quite fit in. He was Russian, he was finished with high school at fifteen, and he wasn't very good at making conversation.

In short, Jason was popular and got all the girls, and the two of them were fairly sure Pavel wouldn't be too popular or get a girl any time soon. It wasn't meant to lower Pavel's self-esteem, it was really just a fact.

Pavel didn't answer Jason's last question, deciding it was rhetorical, and was instead stretching his arms, completely recovered from their run. Jason was still breathing heavily and dripping with sweat.

"Are you still with Alice?" Pavel asked, kicking Jason in the shin to get his attention.

"No," Jason said casually, copying Pavel's stretches. "We had some fun, and she leaves today for some university."

Pavel arched his eyebrow. "So she was, what, nineteen?"

"Yeah. I told her I was too, and she bought it."

He sighed. Very typical Jason. He liked to think of himself as a player, as he told Pavel, but he really preferred the term 'womanizer'.

There was one thing Pavel knew about girls – he didn't want to do what Jason did with them. Jason respected girls, yes, but after he and his hook-up had finished something physical, he really didn't know what to do after that. So he broke up with them and looked for a new girl to fool around with, as long as she understood that he wasn't looking for anything long-term. Pavel _wanted_ something long term; he wanted _love,_ not lust, and he hadn't found anyone that he thought was worth being with. Jason didn't understand what Pavel met, but went with it.

"Pavel, where exactly are we?" Jason asked, looking around as he stood on one foot, attempting to stretch his hamstrings. He instead just ended up hopping around, trying to loose his balance.

"Oh, outside of town. It is fine. I know where we are."

"'Course you do, you're Pavel Andreivich Chekov, a thinking machine, an ultra-runner, and a GPS all in one. Shoulda brought my PADD," Jason muttered to himself.

"We are going to your house, correct?" Pavel asked, beginning to walk back the way they had run from.

"Yeah, you're spending the night, I thought," Jason replied.

"Sounds good."

"Don't go so fast," Jason whined. "My shin hurts."

"I am not going to carry you, even if your leg falls off. I hope you know that."

"You're a jerk, Pavel. _I'd_ carry _you_, because _I'm_ a good wingman."

The bickering continued until they reached the Brant house. It was two stories and very old – Jason was constantly convinced that it would fall down any day. Like most of the other houses, the inside was a lot newer. The technology in their house was not nearly as outdated as it was in Pavel's house, but Jason couldn't wait until they could get the house updated, which he hoped would start in a few weeks.

"Jason, is that you?" A voice called as the two entered the house.

"Yeah, Mom, and Pavel. He's staying the night, that cool?"

Jason's mother came around the corner, a bright smile on her was a little shorter than Jason, with mid-length red hair. She absolutely adored Pavel, for reasons completely unknown to him.

"It's 'cause you always offer to clean when you're over," Jason would say, completely serious.

"Of course it's fine! How are you, Pavel, dear?" She asked, releasing Jason from the hug she had given him.

"Fine, Mrs. Brant, zank you," Pavel said, tensing as she grasped his shoulders.

"Well you boys go freshen up, I don't want dirty faces. Shoo!" She said, motioning for them to go upstairs. As they walked, they passed pictures on the wall of the Brant family. As soon as Pavel looked at the picture of the three Brant children, he heard the two youngest scream upstairs.

"MOOOOOM!" A boy wailed.

"TYSON'S A MEANY!" A girl screamed.

"Please, for the love of everything in the universe, SHUT UP!" Jason yelled as his siblings appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Jason, Tyson hit me!" Aideen whined, pointing the the boy next to her. The three looked exactly the same – Tyson was virtually a smaller Jason, and Aideen simply looked like a smaller, female Jason.

"Aidie wouldn't share!" Tyson said angrily.

"Okay, guys, I really, really don't care. Aideen, share. Tyson, be nice. Problems solved."

"Hi Pavel!" Aideen said, ignoring Jason. "Tyson's mean."

"I am not!" Tyson said, pouting.

"Let's get out of here," Jason said, punching the guest room door's lock. "You know where the shower is. Oh, and sorry about them."

Pavel shrugged. "Do not worry about it. It reminds me of my family in Russia."

"Whatever you say," Jason said, leaving him. "I'll meet you downstairs when you're done."

Pavel's own house was so lonely and quiet that he _liked_ it when Jason's siblings screamed and yelled. It made it seem far more like a home than a house, and as he told Jason, it reminded him of his family in Russia, which he rather enjoyed. He was the oldest out of all of the grandchildren on his mother's side, of which there were fifteen. He was the third oldest on his father's side, but he hadn't seen his father's family since he was four, and he didn't remember them. He had seen his mother's family last summer, without his father, and enjoyed every minute of the mass chaos that was the tiny, Russian household.

Pavel thought about Russia the entire time he was in the shower, wondering when, if ever, he would go back. If he _was_ accepted into the Starfleet Academy, who knew when he would leave Earth? And if he wasn't... Who knew what he would be doing? Pavel decided not to worry about that now. He would have time to worry later.

When he went downstairs, he found Jason leaning against the wall, his arms folded, yelling to his mother.

"Seriously? You're going to make us go get it?"

"Yes, I am, Jason Walter Brant, and I don't want you complaining. It's a simple errand."

"She's making us buy milk," Jason said, rolling his eyes. "We don't need it, and she's making us buy it."

"We do need it, young man, and you need to stop complaining and get going."

"Fine, we're going, we're going, we're at the door, we're going out the door, we're gone," Jason yelled to her as they completed all of those steps. "Seriously, my shin hurts like hell."

"Stretch it out later," Pavel said as they walked down the sidewalk. "Or you could mess it up."

"Maybe if we didn't run so much," Jason muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. Pavel rolled his eyes.

"Do you need to complain to surwiwe?" He asked.

"What?" Jason looked at him.

"Do you need to complain to surwiwe?" He repeated, confused.

"Okay, seriously, I can't understand that word."

"What?"

"The last word."

"Surwiwe?"

"That's not a word."

"Um... _Surfive_," Pavel tried, slowly.

"Survive?" Jason asked.

"Da, I was saying zat."

"Like hell you were. What were we talking about?"

"I do not remember, you went and stopped understanding me."

"You could try and loose the accent."

"You're a jerk."

"You've told me. Have I become an ass yet?"

"No. Not quite."

"Damn, I'll try harder."

"You _want_ me to dislike you?"

"Pavel, you couldn't hate me if you tried. It's impossible to hate Jason Walter Brant. That's a law. I'm too amazing."

Pavel rolled his eyes. He knew Jason was joking – to an extent. Jason was cocky and ignorant at times, yes, but he was still a good friend.

They were the only ones on the streets of the town, which wasn't unusual. What were they here for again? Oh, milk. Right. The grocery store was a few blocks ahead. Pavel's blue eyes wandered around, looking at the displays in the window and reading all the signs to keep his mind occupied – and off of the Starfleet Academy. He took out his PADD and looked at it, seeing nothing new.

"Please, Pavel, quit worrying! And get a new one of those, that thing's like a brick," Jason said, pulling out his own PADD to compare them. Jason's was certainly newer and sleeker.

"I like this brick," Pavel defended, putting it away.

"Whatever. You wanna wait outside? I'm gonna check out the merchandise. You've already said you're not buying."

Pavel groaned and put his face in his hands. "Please, Jason, please just call it looking for someone to hit on. Every time you say somezing like zat, I want to hurt myself."

Jason snickered. "You're just upset that I'm so witty and you're not," he said, entering the store. "It won't be too long."

Pavel decided to wander around a bit, mostly to free his mind. He wasn't offended that Jason suggested he wait outside, it would have otherwise turned into Jason flirting with whoever he say and Pavel being an awkward addition, which he wasn't too fond of. He instead wandered down the street, looking at the various places. He stopped at a corner and looked into an AllPlanet shelter.

He wasn't too familiar with AllPlanet; all he knew what that they were an offshoot of the United Federation of Planets and did volunteer service and gave free food and shelter to anyone who needed it.

It wasn't that full; he saw a few tables that had people eating near the back. In the front he saw a little boy sitting on the lap of a girl that he thought he recognized from somewhere, but he wasn't sure. She was reading the boy a story, smiling and ruffling his hair every time she turned the page. Pavel couldn't help but be reminded of when his mother would read him stories with him on his lap and ruffle his hair after every page. The thought made him smile.

The girl then looked up directly at Pavel, and his stomach lurched as his ears turned red. He bit his lip and looked away, hoping she didn't know that he was staring at him. He was just trying to figure out where he knew her from, anyway, it wasn't like he was a stalker or anything-

He heard the door to the shelter open. "Hello," he heard. He looked back and saw the girl standing there, brushing stray locks of light brown hair behind her ear.

"Hello," he replied, still tense, still trying to figure out who she was.

"Anastasia," she said, extending her hand. "Do... Do I know you?"

"Pavel. I do not know, but you look familiar," Pavel said, taking her hand and shaking it, looking at her remarkably pretty hazel eyes. Anastasia. A Russian name.

"I think I've seen you at the school. Maybe."

That's when it hit Pavel – she was in the same year as Jason, so he had seen her multiple times, although he had never really known who she was. "Da, you are in the same class as my friend Jason."

"Jason Brant, the universe's gift to women? Oh, I know _him,"_ she laughed, causing Pavel to feel nervous in a good way, which he didn't really understand. He smiled. "I think he's talked about you. You graduated already, right?"

"Yes," he said, reaching for his PADD, which was on the vibration setting. His stomach lurched when he saw that there was a message, but it was only from Jason – _where the hell are you?_ "Zat was him."

"Oh, do you have to go? I'm sorry I kept you. You can stop by whenever you'd like." The invitation made Pavel grin.

"Sure. It was nice to officially meet you, Anastasia," he said, liking the way her name sounded.

"You too, Pavel." Anastasia shut the door and went back in, and Pavel turned around and walked towards the store. She seemed so nice and genuine... And she was beautiful. And she had a Russian name. And made him in-a-good-way nervous.

Maybe he liked her.

No, they had only just met, that didn't make any sense. He didn't know anything about her.

But he wanted to see her again.

So maybe he did like her a little. There was nothing wrong with that.

Pavel was still smiling as he met up with Jason, who was holding the canister of milk.

"Seriously, what took you so long, Pavel?"

"I met a girl today, Jason," Pavel said, grinning unlike he ever had before.

"Oh, good job. You should get a trophy," His friend said, his voice laden with sarcasm. "Pavel, we both know that that is probably never going to happen."

He became slightly annoyed. Jason had no faith in him? Really? "No, really, Jason! I met a girl and I think I really like her."

Jason's green eyes widened as a look of disbelief spread across his face. He raised a finger to Pavel's face.

"You- met a girl- you like her- in more-than-friend kind of way-" He stuttered, eventually just moving his lips, obviously at a loss for words.

"Yes. Zat's what I said."

"No shit?!"

Pavel felt proud. His female-obsessed best friend was shocked that he had become attracted to someone of the opposite gender.

"No shit, Jason."

xoxo

NB : So this was going to be even longer... But I thought it was a good place to stop. I like most of it, but the end wasn't my best, but I couldn't get anything else to work. D: So I went with this. I don't hate it, but I wish I had done so much better. Oh well. Thank you all for reviewing and reading and reviewing and alerting and reviewing. And for those of you that don't review, it makes me sad inside that you like my story but don't tell me! Oh well... Thank you all so much for reading this. And it will stay happy for a little while. And Pavel and Anastasia might too. ;] _xoxo Ronnie_


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